


La Pedida

by Fastern



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Coco locos fool off 2019, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 05:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18276311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fastern/pseuds/Fastern
Summary: In which Oscar and Felipe try to stop a wedding.





	La Pedida

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “I’m pretty sure this is illegal."

Being the younger brothers of Imelda Rivera had its perks and detriments. Oscar and Felipe could count on Imelda to come to their rescue when a harebrained scheme got out of control, just like they could always count on her to beat them with a shoe afterwards. She always kept an eye on their business, but conducted her own with such skill that it was almost impossible to snoop.  
  
So it was to the great surprise of the twins when, late at night when they were fourteen, that Imelda sent them a note asking them to come to her room.  
  
Standing in front of her door, Felipe caught Oscar’s eye, his brow furrowed. Imelda’s room was usually off limits. The fact that she was inviting them in was questionable. Still, they were here now. Oscar thrust his shoulders back and his chest forward, knocked once, and led the way inside without waiting for further invitation from their sister.  
  
“What’s this about, Imeld—AHHH!” Oscar screamed.  
  
Felipe screamed because there was someone else in Imelda’s room. Worse than an intruder, worse than a deviant going after their sister, the person in Imelda’s room was none other than Héctor.  
  
Héctor was a familiar sight to Oscar and Felipe, and maybe in a strange way a friend. At least, as good of a friend as the twins’-sister’s-friend could be. As children, Héctor had been bright and creative, always strumming on his guitar and talking about a famous music star, and chasing Ernesto de la Cruz around. It was amazing that Ernesto, popular and handsome, gave the kid the time of day. Oscar and Felipe had teased him, though never cruel.  
  
But as a teenager, Héctor had become quiet when they were around, and in the recent year or two, he’d looked increasingly nervous whenever they were in his presence. The only time they’d seen him at ease was when he was playing in the plaza with Imelda or Ernesto or both at his side. Seeing him in Imelda’s room was scandalous, to say the least. The good news was that both Héctor and Imelda were decent, although Imelda’s balcony door was wide open to let the spring breeze waft through. Everything in front of them painted a specific portrait, and Felipe was not a fan of this art form.  
  
“What’s he doing here?!” Oscar demanded.  
  
“Quiet down, stop being dramatic,” Imelda scolded them. “Shut the door.”  
  
Felipe did so. “What’s he doing here, Imelda?”  
  
“Papá will kill you!” Oscar exclaimed.  
  
“He’ll kill both of you!”  
  
“He can try,” said Imelda flatly. “I have something to tell you two. You won’t like it, but it’ll be the way it is.” Imelda took a breath. “Héctor and I are getting married.”  
  
Oscar’s jaw dropped. Felipe let out a pained noise that sounded like one of Ernesto’s unfortunate chihuahua’s getting a little too much love.  
  
“Q—Qué?” Oscar stammered out.  
  
“You’re getting married?!” Felipe said.  
  
“How are you still alive?!”  
  
“How did Papá not murder you dead when you told him?!”  
  
Imelda’s brow cocked. “What makes you think I told Papá?”  
  
“IMELDA!” Oscar and Felipe exclaimed shrilly.  
  
They looked at Héctor. They looked at Imelda. Then they closed the distance between them and their sister and grabbed her shoulders on either side.  
  
“Imelda, you can’t do this,” Oscar protested. “You should wait...five years...”  
  
“Ten years,” Felipe nodded.  
  
“Twenty years!”  
  
“You don’t even have to get married.”  
  
“You can write a book!”  
  
“‘Imelda Rivera’s Guide on How to Never Marry a Man, Ever.’”  
  
“‘In a Million Years.’”  
  
“‘Volume 2.’”  
  
“Cállate!” Imelda thrust her hands up so fast that she smacked both of them in the face at the same time. “Héctor and I can’t wait five years, we need to get married now.”  
  
“What’s the rush?” Felipe asked.  
  
The atmosphere went frigid, the spring breeze getting sucked out of the room to get replaced by an icy winter. Imelda turned on the spot, her shoes clicking against the wooden floor as her gaze settled on Héctor. He was as red as the roses he’d left on their doorstep, the same ones Señor Rivera had crushed under his heel and told Imelda that she was never to see that músico again. Crushing roses. Just like he’d crushed their mother until there wasn’t anything left of her except a sorrowful shell of a woman.  
  
At that moment, it was impossible to not compare Imelda to Señor Rivera. The strength in her dark eyes inspired a visceral sense of dread, a catastrophic cocktail of intense emotion under the surface. Her expression went tense as if contemplating a lie, and then it eased as she seemed to settle on the truth. Imelda’s lips parted to let a smooth breath out, and her shoulders went rigid. Héctor rose from his seat, hesitant, and did something no other man dared to do: he lay a hand on her. Felipe didn’t miss the way she eased into the touch as if it was a trust exercise.  
  
Imelda turned back to her brothers and said, “I’m having a child.”  
  
There was no containing the noise that escaped Felipe’s mouth: childlike and high. Both of Oscar’s hands went to his mouth so quickly that he only caught a blur of movement. In an extended second, everything changed. Four words that upended the world, made it less about Señor Rivera and more about a small life visible on the horizon.  
  
Of course, not even Imelda could have predicted as Felipe swayed on his feet, threatening to keel over. Oscar hurried to steady his brother and eased him into a chair, although his eyes never strayed from Héctor.  
  
“Don’t be dramatic,” Imelda said, folding her arms.  
  
Oscar pointed a shaking finger at Héctor. “You seduced our sister?!”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Imelda waved them off. “Héctor didn’t seduce me. I seduced him.”  
  
“Oh, Imelda,” Oscar breathed.  
  
“Oh, Imelda!” Felipe echoed.  
  
“Papá’s going to kill you!”  
  
“I’m marrying Héctor. My life won’t concern him anymore. Not that it ever did, but with Héctor, perhaps it will be ‘official’ enough that he’ll leave me alone.”  
  
“But Imelda—”  
  
“Ah, ah, ah, I’m not finished yet! Héctor and I are getting married the day after tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Ernesto will be a witness, and I expect you two to be there as well.”  
  
“You’re getting married when?!” Felipe shrieked.  
  
“The day after tomorrow.”  
  
“To him?!”  
  
“Well, I’m not marrying Ernesto,” Imelda rolled her eyes. “There’s not enough room in his ego for anyone else.”  
  
“But Imelda!” Felipe protested.  
  
“Papá will never allow it,” said Oscar.  
  
“You’ll be a widower before you even walk down the aisle!”  
  
“That’s why I’m not telling Papá,” said Imelda.  
  
This was too much stress for Felipe. He wobbled on the spot, clutching his head, and sank into the nearest chair. He looked like someone had sucker punched him and he couldn’t recover from the betrayal.  
  
“Imelda, you can’t,” Oscar pleaded with her. He got on his hands and knees at Imelda’s feet. “You can’t! Papá will never accept him into the family.”  
  
“And I already explained how unconcerned I am about that,” said Imelda. “You will be witnesses at our wedding. You will not tell Papá. Entendido?”  
  
Now back on his feet, Felipe leaned on Oscar for support. This time, they didn’t need to look at each other to have a silent conversation.  
  
“Entendido?” Imelda prompted them again.  
  
“...Entendido,” Oscar and Felipe answered.  
  
“Good. Now you can leave.”  
  
“Only if he leaves first,” Felipe pointed at Héctor.  
  
Fortunately, Héctor compiled with the demand, after a very curt farewell with Imelda that didn't involve any physical contact, and five minutes later the twins were back in their bedroom. Except things were different. When they’d left, Héctor had been a besotted boy. Now, he was the father of a new life that he was going to share with Imelda, and it had to be stopped.  
  
Felipe paced the room, muttering to himself. He was a roving madman, looking shocked and out for blood and terrified all at the same time.  
  
“Héctor, why Héctor?!” Felipe asked. “Papá hates him. He’ll have Imelda’s head!”  
  
“He’d have fewer protests if she married Ernesto,” said Oscar.  
  
“Think we can switch him and Héctor?”  
  
“Not without Imelda noticing.”  
  
“Imelda notices everything...”  
  
Felipe sighed and flopped down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He dug the palms of his hands into his eyes.  
  
“We need to do something about this,” said Felipe.  
  
“Of course we do,” Oscar agreed. “We can’t let Imelda make the biggest mistake of her life.”  
  
“We have to put a stop to this ‘wedding.’”  
  
“You have an idea?”  
  
Felipe smiled. “I always do.”  
  


* * *

  
The following night, it was late into the evening and the plan was already put in action. Felipe led the way to the very small room that Héctor somehow managed to rent while losing to manage all his money. The thought sent shudders through Oscar, that soon it would be Imelda’s room too if they didn’t put a stop to the whole, literal affair. While it wouldn’t solve the immediate problem of Imelda’s condition, stopping the marriage to Héctor was a good way to stop.  
  
“Do you think we need any more pillowcases?” Oscar asked.  
  
“One will do,” said Felipe. “I doubt he has that much, anyway.”  
  
Héctor resided in a boarding house on the outskirts of town, not too far from the orphanage where he’d been raised. Maybe he liked the familiarity, but either way, it wasn’t the nicest corner of Santa Cecelia. Not a place for Imelda. Not a place for a baby.  
  
Héctor answered almost immediately when they knocked on the door, the faint traces of a grin still present on his face, maybe expecting to see Ernesto or one of his other friends. Instead, upon catching sight of the twins, he stumbled back, gasping.  
  
“Oscar, Felipe!” Héctor exclaimed. “What are you doing—”  
  
“Héctor!” the twins said at the same time.  
  
Héctor let out a surprised yelp and would’ve fallen over if not for Felipe and Oscar swooping in and taking one arm each. Oscar kicked the door shut behind them.  
  
“Our future hermano!” Felipe grinned.  
  
“Let’s have a drink to celebrate your upcoming marriage,” said Oscar.  
  
“Uh, I shouldn’t?” Héctor said. “Ernesto just left and—you’re not here to beat me up, are you?”  
  
“No, no!” The twins said simultaneously.  
  
“Why would we beat up the father of our future niece or nephew?” Oscar cooed.  
  
He and Felipe sat down Héctor on his bed, poured him some tequila, and shoved it into his hands. He fumbled with it a little, but he was impressed with Héctor’s dexterity in the face of two potential murderers standing in front of him.  
  
“Um...this is...nice of you to do,” Héctor said. He looked like a very light breeze would be enough to knock him over, and he hesitantly drank from his glass.  
  
“Ah, it’s nothing,” Oscar smiled despite the rising urge to punch him in the face.  
  
“After all, we’re going to be familia come tomorrow,” said Felipe.  
  
“I—I thought you might be angry,” Héctor admitted. “Are you sure you didn’t come here to beat me up?”  
  
“Héctor, hermano, why would we be angry?”  
  
“Well...Imelda and I did...you know...”  
  
“Did...what? What exactly did you do, Héctor?”  
  
“Yes, Héctor, do tell,” said Oscar.  
  
Héctor sipped his drink. “I...okay, point taken. I won’t say it. I still don’t know why you’re here, though. I didn’t think that you two approved.”  
  
“Imelda doesn’t need our approval,” Oscar waved it off. He took a shot of tequila to settle his nerves. “Never has.”  
  
“Never will,” Felipe nodded in agreement.  
  
“Why don’t you have another drink?”  
  
“I haven’t finished this one yet...” Héctor pointed out.  
  
“Ah. Well, better get started on the next.” Oscar filled Héctor’s glass all the way to the brim.  
  
“I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to drink too much when I’m getting married in the morning. I was already out with Ernesto—”  
  
“Come on, Héctor, we have to get to know each other better,” said Oscar.  
  
“But I’ve known you two for as long as I’ve known Imelda.”  
  
“Sí, but not as hermanos. Now drink!”  
  
It took exactly two glasses for Héctor to get tipsy and declare that he was going to take a nap. The confusion from their unannounced arrival still gripped him as he murmured and lay down, fully clothed, on his bed. That was when their work began.  
  
“I’m pretty sure this is illegal,” said Oscar.  
  
“I’m pretty sure I’ll knock you over your head with a shoe if you don’t help.” Felipe opened Héctor’s closet and surveyed his minuscule wardrobe. “No clothes, no wedding. Even if it doesn't stop him, it’ll make him late. Imelda will never marry him then and she won’t even suspect we had anything to do with it!”  
  
Oscar sighed and murmured, “Duda.”  
  
With Héctor safely unconscious on his bed, drooling on his pillow, Felipe and Oscar got to work cleaning out his closet and drawers. Fortunately for them, Héctor, who always seemed to be short of money for one reason or another, didn’t have a large wardrobe. However, he did have a high-quality charro suit that Oscar held at arm's length to examine.  
  
“Throw it in with the rest, we’ll donate them to charity,” Felipe waved vaguely.  
  
“Felipe, no. I think this one might be important to him. We should just hold onto the clothes. We’ll give them back to him once he solemnly swears to never lay eyes on Imelda again.”  
  
“Fine, fine, just put them in the pile,” said Felipe.  
  
Stuffing Héctor’s clothes into the pillowcase, Felipe tied them up and threw it by the window. Of course, they could always go through the door, but it was more exciting to go through the window like they were actual criminals.  
  
“Wait—we’re going to need to get clothes he's wearing off of him,” Felipe pointed out with all the certainty of a priest preaching the hard truth to his congregation.  
  
Oscar’s heart plummeted to settle in his stomach. He wanted no part of this sermon. “Oh. Right.”  
  
He and Felipe went to stand on either side of Héctor’s bed, the man himself lying unaware of the threat he posed to the Rivera family. The silence congregated in the room like all the music had stopped in the middle of a song, unfinished and unsatisfying. A thrum of regret drove through Oscar, and then he swallowed it back down. That was what Papá had always preached. Swallow it down.  
  
Without Imelda’s boot or her temper to match, they were going to have to rely on their own weapons to take out the enemy, even if their enemy was a young musician drooling on his pillow. Their weapon was trickery. Oscar glanced up at Felipe, then eyed the half-filled bottle of tequila.  
  
Felipe broke out into a toothy smile. He seized the bottle and dumped the remaining contents onto Héctor.  
  
Héctor snorted awake, long limbs flailing. He blubbered and gasped like a desperate fish.  
  
“Aw, Héctor!” Felipe cooed, hiding the bottle behind his back. “Look what you did! You got tequila all over your suit.”  
  
Dreary, Héctor sat upright and swayed, eyes unfocused. “...Wha...?”  
  
“You’ve had too much to drink, hermano,” said Oscar.  
  
“You better take off these wet clothes,” said Felipe.  
  
“We’ll clean it up for you.”  
  
“Can’t have you sleeping in wet clothes.”  
  
“You might get a cold.”  
  
“You might get pneumonia.”  
  
“You might wallow in bed for weeks.”  
  
“You might die.”  
  
“Then where will we be?”  
  
“Sí, just give us your clothes.”  
  
“We’ll clean them, and don’t forget—”  
  
“—You are going to be a married man come tomorrow.”  
  
“Clothes?” Héctor murmured. He tugged at his sleeve. “Okay...”  
  
It took several minutes, quite a bit of coaxing, and a bit of reminder of how buttons worked, but soon Héctor was lying in his undergarments, back to snoring, while Oscar draped the soaked charro suit over his arm.  
  
“Well, that’s that,” said Felipe. “Gather them up, Oscar. I think our work here is done. No clothes, no wedding!”  
  
Oscar nodded. They gathered up the rest of Héctor’s clothes and crawled out the window. He tingled with the excitement of what would await them tomorrow. But also with the fear that Imelda would have a harsh reaction.  
  
Surely she wouldn’t find out, right?  
  
-  
  
Early morning light streamed through the church. On a Sunday, it would be a bustling centre of activity, but on a weekday morning, there was nothing. The only chorus came from the steady tap-tap-tap of Imelda’s boot hitting the floor.  
  
Héctor was late.  
  
The Padre stood nervously at the altar, having been coerced there at boot-point by Imelda herself. He was nervous, but he was nothing compared to Imelda. Albeit, Imelda expressed her anxiety in different ways than most people. Instead of trembling with fret, she became still, like a statue. All except for that foot, tapping up and down on the church floor. It was her tell and Oscar stared at it like a desperate poker player watching his opponent for any sign of good hand.  
  
The only person who didn’t look nervous was Ernesto, who leisurely sat back in a pew without a care in the world. He yawned.  
  
“You could go get him, Ernesto,” Imelda said loudly. Her voice rang up and echoed in the rafters of the church.  
  
“By the time I’d get to his place, he’ll already been on his way here,” Ernesto told her.  
  
“Don’t worry, Imelda, I’m sure he’ll be here,” said Felipe. The lie was so smooth that Oscar was shocked he didn’t slip on it.  
  
“This is Héctor we’re talking about,” Oscar nodded.  
  
“A bit scatterbrained, that one.”  
  
“He’s probably taken a stroll.”  
  
“Or gone to buy flowers.”  
  
“Or a ring.”  
  
“We noticed you didn’t have a ring.”  
  
“He probably went to get one.”  
  
“I hope he doesn't 'borrow' one."  
  
“You aren’t helping!” Imelda barked.  
  
And it was then, at that moment, that the the church doors slammed open. There was a blinding moment when Oscar and Felipe were knocked down with complete and utter shock. There stood the ugliest woman in existence wearing a shockingly white silk wedding dress. A vein trained over her head, and a bouquet was in her hands. It was only by her nose that Oscar and Felipe realized that this was no woman. It was the future Héctor Rivera.  
  
Héctor picked up the hem of his skirt and valiantly sprinted down the aisle with the familiar click-click-click of heels. There was no describing the complete astonishment on everyone’s faces. Slack mouths hung open, eyes bulged out of heads, and the only person with a shameless, wide smile was Ernesto de la Cruz, who fought against laughter so powerful that his eyes glistened.  
  
Héctor managed to get to the altar and stopped there, leaning on his knees and panting heavily.  
  
“Lo siento!” he gasped. “Lo siento! Lo siento! I...I didn’t mean to be late...Lo siento!”  
  
Oscar and Felipe could barely contain their laughter. Oscar bit so hard into his lower lip he tasted blood as he took in the sight of Imelda’s enormous eyes roving over her husband-of-choice. Admittedly, Héctor running to the church in a wedding dress had not been the plan, but if anything could demonstrate that he didn’t deserve their sister, this had to be it. This was the moment when Imelda would reject and turn him away.  
  
Imelda opened her mouth. Oscar contained his laughter, eager to hear the phrase that was some variant of ‘I never want to see you again, Héctor.’ It was a phrase he didn't ever want to forget.  
  
Instead, Imelda said, “Héctor! We can’t both wear dresses! Where’s your suit?”  
  
Beside him, Felipe let out an audible, pained noise that sounded like Imelda’s words were stabbing him in the heart. He wasn’t the only one, either. The Padre looked over Héctor, looking somewhere between baffled and horrified, leaning more towards horrified.  
  
“I—I couldn’t find it!” Héctor said.  
  
“Well, why didn’t you wear something else?” Imelda asked.  
  
“I couldn’t find those either. I could find anything, actually.”  
  
“What do you mean you couldn’t find anything?”  
  
“I mean, I couldn’t find any of my clothes!”  
  
Imelda’s eyes narrowed. She picked up the hem of the dress and examined it closely. “Héctor. Is this my mamá’s wedding dress?”  
  
Oscar frowned and pushed his glasses up his nose. He hadn’t recognized it at first, but sure enough, Héctor was wearing Señora Rivera’s wedding dress.  
  
“Lo siento, Imelda,” Héctor bowed his head.  
  
She put her hands on the hips. “Explain. Start from the beginning.”  
  
Héctor took a deep breath. “Well, I woke up this morning.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I looked in my closet.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“No clothes!”  
  
“No clothes.”  
  
“None! Anywhere! I looked everywhere I could think! All my drawers had been cleaned out! My suit was gone! I couldn’t come without clothes, but I was already running late.”  
  
“The general idea of a wedding is to get to the church on time. But go on.”  
  
“Well, I—I didn’t have any money for a new suit, and I was already running late. So I decided to make a dash for it.”  
  
Ernesto leaned on his knees and wheezed. Oscar patted the poor guy on the back, feeling sorrier for him than he did for Héctor. Imelda’s lips parted with surprise, then she shook it away an unwanted thought.  
  
“You ran through the streets...without clothes?” Imelda garnered.  
  
“I was wearing underclothes,” Héctor shrugged. “I have my dignity.”  
  
Imelda massaged her temple, eyes pinched shut. “Please tell me no one saw you.”  
  
Héctor let out a high whining noise, shoulders going tense. He looked to the side as if hoping if he looked away, Imelda wouldn't see the lie beginning to form on his lips.  
  
“Héctor.” Imelda’s use of Héctor’s name was firm and ferocious, like a dog snapping at his heels. And Imelda’s teeth were sharp.  
  
“Well...Señora Duenas was watering her begonias,” Héctor admitted. “But I got away before her screaming attracted too much attention.”  
  
Imelda sighed and shook her head. “What happened next?”  
  
“Well, I got to your house,” Héctor went on. “Then I climbed up to your balcony and went to your closet and looked for something to wear. I found this...” He held out the skirt of the dress. “In the back. I’m surprised you didn’t just wear it yourself...”  
  
“That was Mamá’s, and I didn’t wear it because I didn’t want to be obvious about what we were doing, unlike you.” Imelda took the hem of the veil and examined it. “And you felt the need to add a veil and bouquet because...?”  
  
“I can’t wear a wedding dress without the accessories,” Héctor snorted as if the answer was obvious. “I’d never hear the end of it. On my way here, I saw these white curtains hanging in an open window. So I borrowed them.”  
  
“Héctor! You can’t just take people’s curtains!”  
  
“I’ll return them! I'm just borrowing them! Although...I might not be able to return the flowers...”  
  
“Dios mío, Héctor! And you trailed my mamá’s dress all through the dirt too! Qué voy a hacer contigo?”  
  
From the side, as the best man, Ernesto had tucked his lower lip under his upper so tight that he looked like a bullfrog. His eyes bulged out, water spilling over and down his cheeks in an effort to contain the laughter.  
  
Imelda’s sharp eyes, as steady as the Devil’s, scanned the room, and her gaze landed on Ernesto. “You! This was your doing! Some bachelor’s prank! Do you think this is funny, Ernesto?!”  
  
“No, it wasn’t me,” Ernesto wheezed. His voice rose several octaves and his breath came out in rapid puffs as he tried to hold back the laughter. “I swear it.”  
  
Imelda recoiled, eyes widening and then contracting as a mixture of anger and realization roved through her. Felipe scooted behind Oscar and pushed him forward.  
  
“Remember, it was your idea,” Felipe whispered into his ear.  
  
“You...You two!” Imelda hopped forward on one foot and pulled off her boot, swinging it high over her head. She struck Oscar and then shoved him aside to hit Felipe in two successive strikes. “IDIOTA! I DON’T NEED APPROVAL TO MARRY! NOT FROM PAPÁ, AND NOT FROM MY BROTHERS!”  
  
“B—B—But Imelda!” Felipe protested.  
  
Felipe got a smack with a boot for his trouble. “Do you have a problem with my husband?”  
  
“Technically he isn’t your husband yet—”  
  
“I asked if you had a problem with my husband!”  
  
“We—”  
  
“DO. YOU HAVE. A PROBLEM?”  
  
Oscar glanced at Felipe, who shook his head rapidly.  
  
“No, Imelda,” Felipe told him.  
  
Imelda turned her shoe on Oscar. “Do you have a problem?”  
  
“No, Imelda!” Oscar squeaked.  
  
“Then apologize to Héctor. RIGHT NOW!”  
  
Héctor took out a white fan and was fanning himself with it, looking like...well, like a flustered bride on her wedding day. “Oh, they don’t have to do—oh. You’re serious.”  
  
Knowing better than to defy Imelda, Oscar and Felipe ambled up to Héctor side-by-side. They stood only slightly shorter than Héctor, and with a few more years of growth, they might even overtake him. All the same, none of them were happy about the situation, least of all Héctor himself.  
  
“Perdóname, Héctor,” Oscar and Felipe said simultaneously.  
  
“It’s...okay?” Héctor said. “The dress is nicer than anything I would’ve worn, anyway...Honestly, I should’ve known better than to trust you two.”  
  
“Yes, you should have,” Oscar chortled. He shut up with a glower from Imelda.  
  
Felipe sighed. Time to admit defeat. “It seems we can’t talk Imelda out of it, then.”  
  
“So we’re going to have to live—”  
  
“—with being related—”  
  
“—we should—”  
  
“—start over.”  
  
Oscar and Felipe got close to Héctor. Very close. Héctor put up the fan between them but that didn’t stop them from glaring into his eyes.  
  
“And if you ever do anything to hurt our hermana...” Oscar started.  
  
“Then our papá won’t be the one you need to worry about,” Felipe said.  
  
They pulled back.  
  
“So let’s all get along, sí?” Oscar smiled forcefully.  
  
Héctor nodded so fast it was a shock he didn't knock anything loose.  
  
“Good enough,” Imelda sighed.  
  
Imelda seized Héctor’s hand and led him to the altar. She didn’t drag him, Oscar noticed. When she took his hand, Héctor’s entire disposition relaxed, and he let her take him to the Padre, his gait in perfect timing with hers. The dress’s train floated behind him like a silken cloud.  
  
The Padre had amazingly kept quiet throughout this entire exchange, save for a pronounced look of complete and utter horror. His gaping mouth would swallow them whole if he opened it any wider, and it didn’t close when Imelda brought her future husband before him.  
  
“Marry us,” Imelda ordered the Padre.  
  
“B—B—B—But,” the Padre stammered. His eyes flicked to Héctor and back to Imelda. “But he’s wearing a dress...”  
  
Imelda looked over to Héctor, brow cocked, but otherwise showing no external sign that she cared.  
  
“Sí, he is,” Imelda said. “I think he looks rather nice.”  
  
Imelda raised her boot like a lethal weapon. The dropped his bible and held up his hands as if she was pointing a shotgun at him.  
  
“Now marry us.”  
  


* * *

  
About a century later, Miguel hadn’t been able to stop smiling for days. Mamá Coco had been sharing all the stories she could remember about Héctor with the rest of the family. His adventure was over and Héctor was safe and the family was together and all was as it should be.  
  
Miguel returned to the crawlspace in the attic to clean out the remnants of his Ernesto de la Cruz ofrenda, not wanting anything to do with the man anymore. In the process, he’d uncovered some old shoeboxes of old family photos, abandoned and forgotten. It was a wonder he hadn’t seen it before, and he had several of them spread out on the ground in front of him. A couple of them were mundane, like family portraits of Julio and Coco, with a round bean-shaped human that he guessed was Victoria. Another was of Victoria and Elena when they were young, and another was Imelda whacking either Oscar or Felipe with her boot.  
  
Miguel was just reflecting on how it was a little sad that they only had one photo of Héctor when he pulled out a particularly ancient photograph that felt so fragile that he felt like it might turn to dust in his hand. Steadying his grip so as to not damage it, he brought it into the light to get a better look. First, seeing a glimpse of Imelda’s face and that of someone wearing a wedding dress, his mind immediately assumed that it was a wedding photo, sending a rush of excitement through him.  
  
Then he took another look.  
  
His eyes thinned.  
  
He rubbed them to make sure he wasn’t seeing anything.  
  
Imelda wasn’t the one wearing the wedding dress. Grinning at the camera from under a veil and holding a bouquet of flowers, was Héctor Rivera. Imelda’s lips were bunched together and her eyebrows were low on her head in what was the most impressive attempt to hold back a smile he’d ever seen.  
  
Miguel stared at it for a good five minutes, taking in the sight of Héctor’s dorky grin and Imelda’s expressive degree of thinly veiled annoyance. Then, he broke out into a wide smile.  
  
This photo was definitely going on the family ofrenda.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, my loves! I'm not the best at humour but I did my best.


End file.
